What October Brings

A Night for Masks Brian M. Sammons

Andy fumed as he watched his little brother, Devon, run up the barely lit path to the stranger’s door. Andy was sixteen, his brother was eleven, and the two boys could not be more unalike as brothers. Check that, half-brothers, Andy reminded himself. Andy was skinny, sullen, red-haired, brown-eyed, and with a face speckled with freckles that thankfully did a pretty good job at hiding the pock marks of adolescent acne. Devon was short for is age and a bit pudgy thanks to too many video games and bad eating habits, which in turn was thanks to the boy’s mom being single, working two jobs, and not having enough time to cook the kids decent meals. Bitch, Andy thought as he saw Devon met up with a trio of other kids at the closed door to the house, under the lit porchlight. Devon was also almost always happy, the dimwit, and had blond hair and blue eyes that matched the cheap plastic Thor mask he wore.

“Trick or treat!” the impromptu quartet yelled out.

“Twick or tweet,” Andy said under his breath with mock syrupiness. He brought his right hand up and used his thumb and forefinger to smooth out his wispy, vernal mustache. He watched the kids shift around, one foot to the other, bobbing and jostling, like they all had to take a leak or something. Clad in bright costumes, except for one kid that went as the Grim Reaper, they looked like the assclowns they were as the door stayed shut and no one replied to their initial challenge.

Come on, shitnugget, ring the damn doorbell or something, Andy thought as he dug his phone out of his pocket for the eighth time that evening and checked the time. 6:48 pm. Goddamnit, he was missing the whole thing. He still had to drag Devon to Ford Street and then back home or else his little brother would no doubt tell mom when she got home from work later tonight and she would have his ass.

“Hey, Devon, come on,” Andy yelled and that caused Thor to turn around and give him a literal blank-eyed stare. Then all of a sudden the house’s door whipped open, there was a cheap, speaker-straining shriek, probably off some Haunted House Sound Effects ripped off of YouTube, and a guy in a rubber and fake fur werewolf mask jumped out of the darkness beyond the door, growling and howling. The kids all jumped, especially Devon who was caught looking the other way, and their legit fright caused Andy to smile in spite of himself. Good, I hope you pissed your pants, he thought.

As the werewolf started pawing out candy to the now giggling kids, Andy looked up at the starless sky and the bulky black clouds that had been promising rain all day but had yet to deliver. Come on, rain already, Andy wished for the umpteenth time that day. Rain would have brought this Halloween bullshit to an early close, and that meant he could run Devon back home and then go off to Ashley Donner’s costume party. That was where he wanted to be, not out here shepherding his little brother as he loaded up on more future diabetes fuel. But while the eleven-year-old was old enough to stay home by himself for a few hours at a time, mom thought he was still too young to go out at night by himself.

Hell, he’s too damn old for tricks and treats, Andy thought, purposely ignoring the little voice in the back of his mind that spoke up to remind him that he had only stopped trick or treating three years ago.

I really don’t care about Ashley’s party, his mom had said, your little brother has waited all year for Halloween, and I have to work, so please, help me out a little will you? After you take him down to Ford you can bring him home and then go to your precious party, okay?

Slap, slap, slap, Devon’s sneakers sounded on the path back towards Andy. “Hey did you see that guy?” He said, lifting the plastic visage of the Asgardian up to reveal his sweaty face beneath. “He was really scary.”

“Uh-huh, come on,” Andy mumbled, as he looked across the street at the next block up. One block closer to the Ford Street finish and then freedom. He placed his hand on Devon’s shoulder and started briskly walking in that direction, hoping that the kid wouldn’t spot the little ranch style house, pushed back from the street and shrouded by pine trees, with the lit Jack-o’-lantern and the porch light on.

Of course he wasn’t that lucky.

“Hey, Andy, there’s a lit house!” Devon cried, spying the house.

Andy dropped his hand from Thor’s plastic shoulder as he dropped his head in resignation. Shit. He knew trying to talk to his half-brother would only waste time as the goddamn crybaby would just play the trump card of ‘telling mom’ after any debate. So he just sighed and mumbled, “Go ahead but make it fucking fast.”

Devon’s mouth made a comical O as that F-word was a word no one in their small family was allowed to say.

Andy gritted his teeth, pushed the thin plastic mask down over his brother’s (half-brother) face and hissed out, “Shut up and just go.” And then for added emphasis he barked out, “Run!”

The mini-Avenger turned without saying a word and ran like he was told for the lit door and the flickering pumpkin.

Andy straightened up, jammed both his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and wished he smoked. He had never tried, but right now he felt would be an appropriate time to start. He took his eyes off his fleeing brother to examine some of the other Happy Hallow-wieners about him. There weren’t that many. There was one kid in the lamest of all costumes: normal street clothes but with a cheap, blank white hockey mask. Knockoff Jason. Way to put in the effort, kid. There was a band of four, all of them as tall or taller than Andy, dressed as Spider-Man, a kind of cute chick as Little Red Riding Hood, a guy as Wonder Woman (hairy legs and all, nice), and president Donald Trump, complete with an exaggerated orange face and bad blond toupee. Oh come on, you all are way too old for this. There was a young couple, maybe in their early twenties, not dressed up in any way, but they were pushing a baby carriage with a little…something (boy or girl, Andy couldn’t tell) in it dressed as a tiny yellow and black bumble bee with an orange plastic pumpkin pail sitting in its lap. Oh come on, that kid is way too young for this. Lastly, about midway down the block that they had just come up, was a tall man in a bright yellow sheet and nothing else. Like an old fashioned sheet-ghost-costume. What a yellow ghost? You piss-ghost or something?

“Hey, that old lady was nice,” Devon said as he came charging back, “she gave me a full-sized candy!”

Andy looked at his brother, then at the already bulging pillow case he was using to hold his haul. “Give me something out of there.”

“Nu-uh, this is mine.” Devon said, comically clutching his bag to his chest.

Andy cuffed his brother upside the head, not hard but hard enough to show he wasn’t fooling, and said, “Come on, give it.”

Devon sighed, stuck a pudgy hand into the pastel blue sack, fished around, and then handed his older brother a mini Three Musketeers bar.

Andy smiled, “Good kid, now come on.” And walked him across Freedmont Street to the next block.

The next block was even worse than the last. Over half the houses were lit up and had grinning and candle-lit Jack-o’-lanterns out front. This made Devon squee with happiness, and Andy to mutter, “Shit,” under his breath again. The Ford deadline was still four blocks away. “Shit, shit,” Andy repeated. He resisted the urge to check the time on his phone again, that would not help speed this along, and instead pointed Devon at the first lit up house and said, “Go on, and hurry!”

For the next god-only-knows how long, Andy shambled down the sidewalk that ran parallel with the street as Devon ran back and forth from the sidewalk, along driveways and walkways to the houses, and then back. Andy’s latest ruminations to keep him from going crazy with boredom were once again about Ashley Donner’s party. Specifically the fact that he knew Tommy Jenkins, who had no kid brother or sister to make him late, was going to the party, too. Tommy and Andy were best friends, but Andy knew that wouldn’t matter when it came to Ashley Donner. Both of them had a major hard-on for the girl, and how could they not? She was fine as hell. In Andy’s mind’s eye he could see Tommy, one hand leaning against a wall, red Solo cup in the other hand, talking with Ashley, and sneaking closer and closer to the girl in the most nonobvious way the dickhead could pull off. Until the two were very close. Too damn close. Then Tommy would drop his oh-so tired arm right around Ashley’s shoulders. She would give him a cute, awkward smile, he would return it with a shit-eating one of his own. Then he would lean in, licking his thin lizard-like lips, and –

“Fuck it!” Andy said, his hand going darting in his pocket for the phone again. It was only with Herculean effort that he was able to pull his hand back out of his pocket sans phone. Man I wish I smoked or something.

He turned back to studying the people around him to take his mind off such things as Devon was at the new house, screaming, “Trick or treat!” One girl dashed past him dressed as one of the princesses from Frozen, the icy one, but Andy didn’t know her name. An Optimus Prime came running from the other side of the street, toward the door where Devon still was. And then there was…what the hell?

It was another old timey sheet ghost, this one white with the two eye holes cut out. A cartoon classic. But it was all just…wrong. First it was short, like under three feet. Okay, small kid, no big deal, Andy rationalized. But the little “tyke” was nearly as wide as it was tall, like there were three little kids clustered together under that sheet instead of one. Then there was the sheet itself, it was greasy, filthy, like the kid (kids?) had been dumpster diving in it or wallowing around in pig shit. Who the hell would wear that? And as the dirty sheet spook waddled past him, the stench of it was pure backed up sewer line, and the little freak wheezed and slurped as it walked.

Get the fuck back! Andy’s mind screamed and he leapt off the sidewalk, stepping up onto the lawn to get out of the nasty thing’s way. He turned his head over his left shoulder and saw Devon still at the house, now talking to some other costumed kids that looked about his age. He turned his head back, and that’s when he saw the yellow piss-ghost again. It was just about five houses down, in the middle of the street, and it was staring at him. Now that it was closer (you’ve called him ‘it’ three times now, he’s just some guy in a yellow sheet) Andy could see it wasn’t a yellow sheet he wore, but a yellow robe. One with a hood that the stranger had up. But the guy was faceless, for under that hood was nothing. Only blackness and nothing more. That’s how Andy could tell that the weirdo was staring at him, that empty black hole of nothing was pointed right at him.

Come on, he’s just got his face blacked out with make up to make it look like an empty hood. That’s all it is. Andy said to himself, but it did nothing to stop the shiver that ran down his spine. Damn I wish I had my knife.

The knife in question was one of Andy’s prized possessions. Or at least it had been. He had bought it from Tommy Jenkins three years ago, who had stolen it from his older brother, Jensin, once he went into the army. Andy loved that badass knife right up until the time his mom found it under his bed and confiscated it about two years back. He still missed it at times. Like right now. It was so damn sweet, with a curved blade that had a jagged, serrated edge along its back. The best thing about it was that it had a nasty-ass trick. In its handle was a little button that if you pressed it, it caused the blade to fold in, but not all the way. Once it folded in ninety degrees it would lock in place making a T with the handle and the blade. Then it became a push dagger, and man, that could do some damage. Locked in that position you wouldn’t slice or even stab with it, but punch with it, and that would mess anyone up.

Yeah but you don’t have that knife anymore, so just quit it, he scolded himself. Then he jumped and yipped like a sissy when he heard someone shout his name from right behind him.

It was Devon, back at last from the house and the other kids.

Devon laughed, lifted up his Thor face and said, “Did I scare you?”

Andy turned, grabbed his little brother by the hand, and started speed walking down the sidewalk, literally dragging the kid along.

“Wha – Andy, stop. Ow, you’re hurting me – ”

But Andy wasn’t listening to his kid brother, he was listening to himself. Man, settle down, what got you so scared?

I’m not scared.

“Come on, Andy, lemme go. There’s more houses over there with—”

Bullshit you’re not scared. Thinking about your knife, what you going to do with it if you had it?

I don’t know…something…

Dude, it was just some guy in a yellow bathrobe with his face painted black. That’s it.

“I’m gonna tell mom!”

No, I felt it.

Felt what?

Felt it—

Him.

Whatever, felt him staring at me.

So?

It felt cold. His gaze was ice fucking cold.

That’s crazy.

No, it felt like—

“Ow!” Andy screamed as pain flared in his right calf. He looked back at his wide-eyed little brother, at the kid’s sneakered foot, then down at his leg as his brain put two and two together. “You kicked me, you little shit.”

“Well you were ripping my arm out of my socket,” Devon said and with a twist and a yank, pulled his left hand out of Andy’s sweaty grip. “What got into you? What’s wrong?”

Andy looked back down the block at where Mr. Yellow Robe had stood, and saw nothing. The freaky guy had vanished.

Devon followed Andy’s gaze and also saw nothing. “So, what was it?” the child asked.

“Nothing…”

“No you weren’t running like it was nothing.”

“I wasn’t running,” Andy began to protest.

Yes you were.

“Yes you were,” Devon said, “Like you were scared of something.”

“Shut up, forget it,” Andy said a little too forcefully. Are you talking to yourself or your brother? Andy chuckled at that, looked to both sides of the street to make sure the yellow guy was really gone, and then turned back to Devon. “Look it’s getting late—”

“Nu-uh, it’s only—”

“So get a move on.” Andy spun him around again and this time gave him a little kick in the pants to get him going. Devon rubbed his backside with one hand as he looked back at his big brother, still confused. Then he heard a merry chorus of “Trick or treat!” behind him, and he turned and ran off, putting his mask back in place as he went.

Things went back to normal for the rest of the block and most of the next one, too. Andy kept an eye to his back for a time, but there was no sign of the yellow-robed man. Just normal folks doing the normal Halloween stuff. The tightness in his chest that he hadn’t noticed before, but upon retrospect he guessed started when he saw that black face-hole in the yellow hood staring at him, loosened up and went away. He felt relieved, stupid for having scared himself over nothing, but mostly relieved. Snagging another piece of candy from him protesting little brother helped. And hey, he hadn’t even thought of the time or the party at Ashley’s place since –

The growing smile that was blooming on his face froze then disappeared altogether as he spotted another… something. This one wore another white sheet with two black eye holes, but it was a very big sheet. A long sheet. The sheet-ghost’s head was maybe four feet high, but it was very long, like Chinese dragon long. Andy pictured four or five kids under there, bent over after the first child, head to ass. Who would do that? Got to be uncomfortable as hell. But Andy knew that wasn’t it. He wished that’s all it was, but somehow he just knew it wasn’t; the last part of the thing was dragging thick and heavy on the ground. So if that’s a train of kids, then the last one is dead. So how are the rest dragging him? And why?

He turned to see where Devon was in his latest candy begging session, and his bladder let go. Just a little, he stopped himself by grabbing his crotch and squeezing, but he felt a warm trickle run down his left leg. Devon and three kids were at the door. Two were waiting anxiously for the candy giver to answer their summons, the third had its back to the door. It was staring back at him. It held no bag or plastic pumpkin to hold candy. It of course was dressed in a white sheet, one with a single eye hole on its lumpy, far-too-large shape of a head. And the white sheet was splattered, no, covered in red. Blood. Not fake blood, Andy could smell, he could taste the copper in it from where he stood.

Then there was a rustle of fabric and a flash of yellow to his left.

He turned to see what it was.

His bladder finished what it had started moments ago.

The Yellow man stood before him, over seven feet tall if he was an inch. He looked taller still, for he wore a spiked and spired crown of gold on his hooded head. Standing this close, Andy could see that the robe was in tatters but was immaculately clean, and that the copper stench of blood radiated from this crowned king in yellow. He could also see inside the folds on the hood. The king wore a cracked and pitted pale mask. It looked dull, like bone. Was it ivory? Its only feature was two eye holes and the two eyes beneath…

…Pain. Wounds. Blood. Loss. Tears. Sickness. Infection. Futility. Hopelessness. Meaninglessness. Despair. Desire. Time. Age. Rot. Rust. Decay. Stink. Entropy. Entirety. Cruelty. Savagery. Blackness. Void. War. Slaughter. Death. Death. Death…Truth.

Somehow Andy managed to tear his gaze away, his eyes blurry, wet, and leaking. The King reached out with a tawny-bandaged hand, yellowed and crusted, log-nailed and dripping, and oh so gently took Andy’s trembling hand. He spread the fingers and placed something it his palm: his knife, already locked in the T punch dagger position. The robed one then carefully closed Andy’s hand, making a fist, and patted his white knuckles. He then leaned in and whispered something in a voice of rusty coffin nails pulled free and the unsheathing of misericordes.

“Andy, you peed your pants!”

Andy turned around to a voice both familiar and not. He expected to see…something…someone? Instead he saw another sheet-clad monster, all lopsided and lumpy. Filthy, reeking, and… it wore a cheap, plastic, kiddy Halloween mask. Some superhero, blond hair, blue eyes, helmet…what was his name?

Andy turned to ask The King, he would know, he knew everything, but he was gone.

“Andy?” He felt a tug on his sleeve.

Andy turned and roared at the sheet-ghost-thing that clutched at his arm. Not with fear, not to frighten, it was communication at its most primal: raw, savage, and so right. It felt so good. It felt true.

He knew what he had to do. What you always had to do with monsters. He punched out with his already clenched fist. And again. And again. And when the figure fell, he went down with it, mounted it, and punched and punched and punched…

Andy heard screams. He heard shouts of both fear and anger. He heard an “Oh my God!” and a “Stop it!” and a “…just a kid!” and laugher. That last sound came from him. And as he rose and looked at a half-dozen sheet-covered monsters, most running away, some staring at him, one filming him with an iPhone, he knew why he laughed. He knew why he was so filled with joy despite all the monsters in the world. At last, long, long last, his mask was off. This was him, the real him, his true face, and killing was as natural as breathing, blinking, or pissing. So he withdrew his fist from the warm, sticky mess beneath him, pulled his splattered arm back, ready to punch out again and again, and with a laugh he charged the nearest monster.